The sea was as calm as a duck-pond. In Osman's opinion it was unnecessary to tie up our steeds to the bulwarks. The animals which belonged to the Bey were simply held by their grooms, and stood quietly enough by the carriages. Everything looked _couleur de rose_, and I went up the ladder to a sort of raised deck, which arched over the place reserved for horses, cattle, and other merchandise. Here several Turkish ladies were sitting. They were engaged in sipping glasses full of water. One, who appeared to be the elder of the party, had some sugar in her pocket; producing it, she carefully sugared the tumblers of her companions, and then sugared her own. The faces of these ladies could be clearly seen through the very thin muslin texture which served them as veils. They were not prepossessing, and sadly wanted expression—a defect which I subsequently observed in almost every Turkish woman whose countenance I had the opportunity of seeing. We need not be surprised at this. I have been informed by the Turks themselves that very few women, not one per 1000, can read or write. They amuse themselves with gossip and eating. Their mental faculties become absorbed. They live for the moment, and pine after the coarser and more sensual pleasures. The domestic life in a Turkish family is often not a happy one; the elder and less favoured wives hate to desperation the more attractive and younger additions to the harem. The middle-aged spouse is goaded to madness at being deprived of those favours which the more comely wife is allowed to share. She endeavours to poison her lord's ear with respect to the new arrival. The jealous husband does not know what to believe, his home becomes a pandemonium. Suddenly a loud report, followed by another, and then another, aroused me from my reflections; a tremendous noise could be heard below our feet, and men's voices expostulating in anger. What had happened? One of the Turkish ladies let her tumbler fall, the faces of the other passengers became white. Was it a torpedo which General Ignatieff had set to blow up the Mohammedans, or had the engine burst? I hurried downstairs. The first thing which met my gaze was the black horse, "Obadiah"—I had named him after a favourite old charger—lying stretched out on deck, and my English servant seated on the animal's head. Osman was holding one end of the grey horse's halter, the animal amusing himself meanwhile by lashing out with his heels at the panels of the Bey's carriage. Fortunately the other horses had remained quiet. The Bey's servants, instead of attempting to save the panels of their master's carriage, vented their wrath by numerous expletives, and were keeping as far as possible from the scene of action. "Well, I'll be d—d!"